“This event,” said Editor Cuppy, “constitutes one of the most remarkable examples of civic and business ingenuity ever manifested in our midst. Our village will thrill at the prospect of such a contest between such well-known citizens as Mr. Patt and Mr. Jones. There have been horse-races and foot-races and balloon-races and dog-races, but never to our knowledge has the earth seen a painting-race. It remained for our town to set the lead in this new realm of sport, and it remained for our new and valued citizens, Atkins & Son, painters and decorators and contractors, to bring this honor to us. It represents true enterprise. We should all extend the hand of welcome to these progressive citizens. It is to be hoped that the town will take formal notice of this event and that some sort of celebration will be arranged to mark the start of the race. The least that could be done would be to organize a parade to the place of the contest, and to hear some words of congratulation and patriotism spoken before the gladiators lay on their brushes.” There was a lot more of it and Catty was tickled to death. “I guess I git my ladders now,” he said. “How?” “Wait and see,” says he. We walked over to Mr. Manning’s warehouse where Mr. Atkins was mixing paints. He was about done when we got there, and Catty grabbed onto him and told him to come along. “Where?” says Mr. Atkins. “I want a chance to git off and rest and look at birds a-flyin’ and clouds a-scuddin’ by.” “After this,” says Catty, “about the only time you git to do that is Sundays. You’re goin’ to be too busy the rest of the week.” “I be, be I? Wa-al, where we goin’ now?” “Barber’s,” says Catty. “Hair-cuttin’ barber’s?” “That’s the feller, Dad.” “I’m goin’ to git my hair cut?” “Whiskers, too.” “Not clean off?” says Mr. Atkins, and his eyes got kind of frightened. “Naw,” says Catty, “not off. Them whiskers is valuable, pervidin’ they’re used right. I’ve been thinkin’ up what kind of whiskers looks most respectable and dignified and sich-like, and I got it all planned out. Let’s hustle, Dad.” So we went to the barber’s, and Catty herded his Dad into the chair, and then told the barber just what he wanted done and how he wanted it. He had a picture he had cut out of an old magazine of some man that was president of a railroad, and he was about the most dignified-looking man I ever see. His whiskers come down to a sharp point and was that neat and handsome you wouldn’t believe it. Catty held this picture up to the barber and told him to make his Dad look as much like that as he could.